


Have To Do Everything Myself

by BSplendens



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Cybertronian smut, Dirty Talk, Five-Alarm is mostly just pissed, Light Dom/sub, Optimus Prime is a bottom, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Spanking, and I mean like with the showerhead, and repressed as fuck, lack of verbal consent, lots of consent! just not verbal, minor lack of kink negotiation, sticky smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSplendens/pseuds/BSplendens
Summary: There's only so long anyone can spend in the vicinity of a mech who's busy lying to himself about not needing a good frag. It takes patience. Five-Alarm is not what we call a patient person.This is basically just 5239 words of Optimus Prime getting fragged, because we all know he's several kinds of repressed. If you wanna read about Optimus getting railed by a bot who's a bit shorter than him, might just outweigh him, and is definitely strong enough to lift him, this is your fic.





	Have To Do Everything Myself

**Author's Note:**

> This is a link to Five-Alarm's character description: https://bettsplendens.tumblr.com/post/181914364764/character-profile-five-alarm  
> He's having a good day here. Minimal paranoia. Probably got some sleep lately. He's just... very tired of having to put up with a muffled-horny field bumping into his all the time. He's also very direct.   
> Oh, and the universe forgot to tell Optimus that he's got a thing for being fragged by someone who's strong enough to actually have a shot at pinning him.

Fucking repressed Autobots. Five-Alarm set a mostly repaired copter-drone aside with a huff as Optimus’ field bumped against him for the twelfth time, strung up tight, held close and practically vibrating with need. Poor idiot was so fucking wound up, it showed on every one of his scans and would probably be  _felt_ if anyone touched him. And yet, when anyone tried to tell him about it, including the local medic, he made up some excuse and fled. Clearly he knew.

Had he gotten off in the past century? Probably not! And it was starting to bug Alarm. Idiot couldn’t go find himself a comfortable cave somewhere and actually, literally fuck himself? What, was it too “improper” or something of the slagging sort?

Optimus got too close  _again,_ this time close enough for his arm to brush against Alarm’s, and his field surged towards the bit of contact. It wrapped around Alarm’s shoulder, heavy and grasping and desperate, and the medic’s patience snapped.

Five-Alarm whirled around and stepped firmly into the Prime’s space, interrupting his tinkering with a push of a firm, rather irritated field. “Put that down and come with me,” he ordered, and reached up, grabbing Optimus’ shoulder plating in one servo. The Prime could easily have refused him, of course, could have stood there and made him look like an idiot trying to move someone this heavy. But, surprising no one (except perhaps Optimus), that wasn’t what happened, and Alarm set off to the washracks with a baffled Prime in tow.

Mercifully, the washracks were close to the medbay. Alarm shoved Optimus inside, then, lest his intent be misunderstood, grabbed one of the showerheads off the wall on its flexible hose and stuffed it into Optimus’ servo. Standing back slightly, he crossed his arms and glared, plating bristling slightly in a display of dominance as he growled at his charge. “Is that enough of a hint, or do I need to spell it out for you?”

 

Optimus looked between him and the showerhead for a moment, then comprehension dawned, and with it came embarrassment. Sputtering something indistinct, he tried to put the showerhead back on the wall and failed entirely, managing only to fumble with it as his field reached for the contact that had been so quickly taken away. Was that- what- he didn’t- Primus, Alarm couldn’t possibly expect him to- the door wasn’t even  _locked_ and- what?

 

That Prime-strength field reached for him again, pleading for contact, and Alarm found it harder than before to pull away. Primus damn it. He was a member of a social species, a medic, no less, and this bot in front of him was practically begging to be touched.

Fuck it. Fuck  _him._ Alarm turned away to lock the door, then stepped back and got up close, pushing the Prime back up against the wall. “I guess I  _do_ need to spell it out, then,” he grumbled, and snatched the showerhead out of fumbling fingers. “I am telling you to  _frag yourself_ ,” he hissed, and was rewarded with a flickering, unwitting, pleading surge of  _want/need/interest_ in the field pushed noisily against his. “It isn’t  _complicated_. First” a pause as he shoved his knee between the Prime’s legs, pushing those pretty thighs apart, “you spread your legs.  _Then_ ” a turn of the knob on the wall “you turn the water on. Are you with me so far?” he grumbled, looking up at those oh-so-wide optics, and barely managed not to flinch when the Prime’s control evidently broke and the full strength of his field crashed over Five-Alarm.  _Want/need/please/please/please_ mixed with growing arousal and almost more confusion than the rest, and the Prime’s servos landed on his shoulders, shaking as though the other couldn’t bear to push him away.

 

When- when had Five-Alarm recovered enough to get this  _strong_? He’d pushed Optimus against the wall like he weighed nothing, could- could probably  _lift-_

That was not a productive train of thought right now, what mattered more was  _the knee pushing his thighs apart_ , no, it was the fact that Five-Alarm felt- felt like he had to-

“Five-Alarm,  _please_ ,” he managed, his voice shakier than he would have liked, “I am perfectly capable of-“

He was cut off by Five-Alarm leaning in further and doing something that pushed his legs further apart, and then trapping him like that with a knee pressed against his inner thigh, keeping him from regaining himself fully.

 

“Well, clearly you  _aren’t,_ because you  _haven’t been,_ ” Five-Alarm grumbled, and aimed the showerhead at Optimus’ unoccupied thigh. “So I’m going to handle this myself. And the next step, in case it’s been long enough that you’ve forgotten, is for you to  _open up_.”

The way Optimus was quivering against him, he half-expected that to work. It didn’t, though, so he looked up at the Prime’s face again, voice softening a fraction. “If you tell me that you want me to stop, I will stop. But I don’t think you want me to. And I think you’re strong enough to push me away if you want. So. I am going to continue. You can either tell me that you don’t want this and push me away, or you can  _open_.”

 

Optimus shuddered all over at the tone of the last few words, servos grasping Five-Alarm’s shoulders tighter –when had he grabbed for support?- as his legs shook, and took a moment to try to compose himself. Was he really- was he actually thinking of doing this? Of- of letting- well, yes, all right, Five-Alarm wasn’t technically under his command, was actually more like a Decepticon, but- but that didn’t mean that-

And then the water streams from the showerhead stroked over something very sensitive high up on his thigh, and Optimus made a choked sound of  _need,_ valve cover snapping open. Much to his mortification, his valve was dripping even before Alarm aimed the showerhead at it, and he made a very un-Prime-like squeaking noise when the stream of water hit him. His legs tried to clamp together on reflex at the sudden stimulation, but he found himself unable to close them, nearly unable to move because of the way he was being  _pinned,_ and his cooling fans finally kicked on in a sputtering roar at that realization.

 

Alarm, still thoroughly annoyed from having to stand next to this worked-up mess, was ruthless with the showerhead. He knew what he was doing and went right for the Prime’s valve, moving the water streams in quick little flicks over the temptingly glowing node, interspersed with longer strokes around plush valve lips. Optimus gasped sharply and wrapped an arm around him for support, and Alarm grumbled quietly at the extra contact and the weight, but continued anyway. “Fucking  _Primus_ you’re worked up. When was the last time you did this? Have you  _ever_ self-stimulated, for that matter? You act like you haven’t been touched in centuries. All over me like this. Hardly need the showerhead, bet you’d come just from feeling the air. Hold  _still,”_ he ordered, and turned the sensitivity down considerably on both servos before shifting slightly.

Leaning in, he planted one shoulder against Optimus’ chassis and slid that servo down to his valve, spreading the lips wide to expose some of the internal sensors to the showerhead as he brought it in closer with the other. As he felt the Prime starting to adjust to the stimulation, he brought the showerhead closer and closer, until he was practically rubbing it against that pretty valve. Because it  _was_ pretty, shimmering silver with a tracery of bright blue bio-lights and a pert, glowing nub that begged to be sucked, but that wasn’t what he was doing right now. He was going to get an overload out of this repressed idiot, and by the gasping noises Optimus was making near his audial, it wasn’t going to take long.

Dear Primus, the mech held onto him like he was a lifeline. His field, too, still grasping desperately for every bit of contact he could get. What had this mech been doing to himself?

 

What might have tried to be a protest at being- he wasn’t sure, handled like this, talked to like that, everything- died on Optimus’ lips as long-unused inner sensors were stimulated by the water, and he found himself grasping at Five-Alarm to keep himself from falling. That, and, dear Primus, the mech was  _warm._ Any embarrassment that he might have felt at his behavior was long since washed away, and Optimus moaned shamelessly, desperately, hips bucking into the stimulation. Oh,  _Primus,_ this was rougher than he’d ever been with himself and he  _loved it,_ loved every instant of the brusque attention. Overload hit him like a freight train out of nowhere, in what would have been an embarrassingly short time if he’d been able to be embarrassed. Optimus gave a thoroughly undignified shout, hips bucking hard and valve clenching on nothing, and was dimly aware of Five-Alarm grumbling at him in what he fancied was a rather fond tone as he was lowered to the ground.

“Touch-starved high-strung idiot, bet you haven’t jerked off in decades, gonna burn something out if you keep going like that, turn  _over_ you great fool I’m not done yet,” then he was on his knees, elbows braced on the low bench, with Five-Alarm… oh.

 

With Five-Alarm staring rather appraisingly at his valve. The Prime was panting hard, but his valve lips were still fully pressurized, his node glowing brighter than ever, and a servo on his back could still feel the charge. That wasn’t nearly enough. Not that he’d expected it to be.

“And now I suppose you’re too wobbly to take care of yourself,” he muttered, turning off the showerhead and setting it aside, and leaned over the Prime to plant a servo firmly on his back. Hm. What to do next?

This wasn’t really what he’d had in mind, he’d been planning to shut the Prime in the showers for an hour or so, but he wasn’t really of any mind to complain. Even if Optimus, apparently, still was.

 

Regret crept dark and curling into Optimus’ field, and he shook his helm, shakily trying to look over his shoulder at. At the mech who. Who should not have looked so attractive looming over him like that. “Ah, I- Five-Alarm, you- you don’t have to- I-I won’t make you-“ had the Decepticons expected him to “-this is hardly part of your  _duties_ , and it is not  _necessary_ , I-I do not need you to-  _oh-_ “

The Prime went silent in shock as Five-Alarm  _spanked_ him, half silenced by being smacked, and half to choke back the moan that came from the surge of pleasure up his spine as strong fingers landed directly against his exposed valve.

 

“Hush,” Five-Alarm ordered, grabbing one of Optimus’ smokestacks and squeezing, “you aren’t making me do anything. I am within my duties to inform you that you are endangering your health, but I am not obliged to do anything further than tell you what to do about that. This is not obligation. You are not forcing me to do anything. I am fully capable of  _hurting_ you if you try to make me do anything,” he reminded, made slightly more ominous (though accidentally) by the two fingertips circling around Optimus’ valve, then brought his servo up for another spank. Several more, in fact. Each landing carefully against his valve and only his valve, light enough not to truly hurt, but hard enough to be felt. One spank to punctuate each word. “And. Charge. Release. Is. Necessary. For. Your. Health.”

A rough grip on Optimus’ smokestack kept the Prime from leaning away from the spanks, and when he stopped after the last one, Optimus was trembling again. Mostly from the knees, though, and his field was shuddering full-blown arousal despite the bafflement layered under it. Hmph. Probably the first time anyone had treated Optimus Prime like this. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

_Oh._

Optimus’ helm spun, and he panted heavily through his vents to cool his enthusiastically heating frame, slumping down a bit as his smokestack was released. Oh, Primus. He hadn’t been-  _oh-_ he’d had a partner land a spank or two on him when he was Orion Pax, yes, but never since then, and  _never_ like this, not even before. It stung, each successive blow more than the one before, but each smack was accompanied by a jolt of pleasure up his spine as what felt like every sensor in his valve rim fired off at once. It was hard to think, but when Alarm growled warningly and lifted his servo away again, Optimus managed to lift his helm and get out “yes sir” before the next spank came.

 

“Sir?”

Alarm brought his servo back down, but slowly, gently, and began to stroke over those pretty valve lips with two fingertips as he thought it over. “I like that. You’ll call me ‘sir’ for the rest of this,” he decided, and dipped his fingers just slightly past Optimus’ valve rim, spreading him open. Lubricant welled up eagerly to meet his searching fingertips, and he clicked his glossa approvingly, his own systems starting to cycle up in response to the scent. “Hm. Nice and wet. At least your frame hasn’t forgotten what to do here, even if the rest of you has,” he declared, and silenced what sounded like it was going to be another protest in the most direct way possible. Namely, by pushing one digit into the Prime, spreading slick walls open around him.  _This_ was why he’d turned down the sensitivity in his servos- because otherwise that tight, wet heat would have his knees shaking already. He didn’t want that. Not for this. Not when he was already adding another finger to this eager little valve.

 

Optimus moaned again, and his fans gave a sharp, delighted rev as Five-Alarm planted a servo on his back, leaned against him, eased another finger into his valve, and set about. Well. Fragging him open. “I-  _ah_ yes- I-I really- I must insist, you- you don’t  _need-_ I-“

His vocalizer crackled uselessly and gave out, and just in time, too. Because the next thing Five-Alarm did was lean down and growl “if you insist on telling me things I already know, I may have to spank you again” in his audials, and. Well.

It was terribly hard to think about how he was a Prime and ought to be held to a higher standard when his valve was being spread open around the first substantial thing in- oh, Primus, Five-Alarm was probably right about centuries, and when there was someone growling at him in that  _tone_ and- and leaning their weight against his back, probably strong enough to actually have a hope of  _pinning_ him if-

Five-Alarm did something with his wrist that brought his thumb against Optimus’ node, and then he started  _talking_ again, and that was the end of all coherent thought for now. It was definitely the end of protesting, with Alarm thrusting those strong fingers into him in a quick, steady pace.

 

“Your valve is  _hot,”_ Alarm growled, leaning his weight against the Prime’s thigh, “and you’re so  _wet._ It’s a good thing we’re doing this in the showers, you’re  _dripping_ like a little slickvalve who can’t get enough of being fragged. Look at you. You’re a  _mess,_ and you’re still fucking  _gorgeous._ I did not come in here to fuck you, and now look at me. I think I’m going to spike you next. I am going to fuck your greedy little valve open until you overload for me, and then we’re going to see if you can take my spike. Skinny hips like these, you’ll be a tight fit. Now” a slight pause as he twisted his wrist back and spread his fingers further, “let me hear how a Prime  _squeals.”_

Optimus didn’t quite squeal, but he did make a thoroughly enjoyable little moaning noise, hips twitching back against Alarm’s servo at every thrust. Primus, this had been easy- the quickest overload Alarm could manage to give someone, and now the Prime was  _dripping_ around his fingers, lubricant pooling in Alarm’s palm. His calipers spread like they’d been made to take Alarm’s servo, and Alarm made sure to let Optimus know that, as well as anything else that came to mind as he watched the Prime squirm. Because he  _did_ squirm. Back arched, thrusting back to meet Alarm’s servo in tiny little motions, thighs spreading open further as his knees slipped on a floor made slick by water and lubricant. His arms gave out after a few more moments, too, which left him with his knees on the floor and his chassis on the bench, moaning helplessly, charge practically skyrocketing as clever fingers found every node cluster that Alarm could possibly reach.

Such a mess.

Was it blasphemy to talk to a Prime like this, Alarm wondered internally, and what did that make  _doing_ this if so? Probably some sort of sin. Appropriate, with the sinful noises the poor mess of a repressed idiot was making. Well- formerly repressed, Alarm wasn’t sure whether squirming like this and making those  _noises_ as one’s valve dripped lubricant down one’s thighs counted as being repressed. Trying to complain about it might.

Another swivel of his wrist in a way that most non-medics couldn’t manage, and Alarm took full advantage of his flexibility to press his thumb to Optimus’ node again, rubbing in strong, even circles perfectly in time with the slow, precise thrusts. “Do you hear the  _noises_ you’re making, little thing? Moaning like you’re getting the best spike you’ve ever had. And your  _valve,_ can you hear how wet you are? I can’t wait to hear what you sound like with me in you. But first, little toy” his servo slid around the previously ignored smokestack and pulled gently “I need you to  _overload_ for me.”

 

Optimus didn’t know then, and probably never would figure out, whether it was the final rub to his node that did him in or the command itself. Whatever the cause, the result was an overload that shuddered its way up his spine, pulling an embarrassingly loud, breathy moan from him as his valve clenched hard around Alarm’s fingers and his servos grasped the bench so tightly he felt it creak under him.

No sooner had the overload-tingles begun to fade from his valve, then he felt the nearly-withdrawn fingers push back in again, spread, and curl, and Alarm started to work him open again. This time, in faster, rougher thrusts, the medic’s other servo gripping his back plating and pulling him back so he couldn’t escape. Something about that combination of the roughness and being  _held_ sent a thrill up his spine, one that echoed up again as Alarm pressed up close.

 

Five-Alarm examined his slick fingers for a moment, idly tasting his fingertips, then gripped the Prime’s hips in both servos and retracted his spike cover. “Hm. Now look at you. Aft up, dripping for me, so thoroughly fucked that you can’t push yourself up, and I haven’t even spiked you yet. I’m only encouraging you to neglect yourself with this, aren’t I? Mm. Suppose it can’t be helped at this point, can it? I need to do something about this,” he muttered, and ground his hips against Optimus’, rubbing his spike against that eager valve. “Any complaints?”

 

Oh. Right. Five-Alarm was heavily built, which meant his spike- Optimus swallowed hard and slowly rocked his hips back, managing to bring himself up enough to get his knees under him better, giving himself a moment to consider what he could feel of the situation. That was. Not a small spike. That was actually a rather large spike. But Optimus was reasonably large himself, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been thoroughly  _prepared,_ and rough or not, Five-Alarm certainly wasn’t going to  _damage_ him.

The Prime shivered, moved to brace himself a bit better, and nodded once, glancing back over his shoulder. “I- no. No complaints.”

 

Alarm rumbled thoughtfully, but rocked against Optimus again instead of thrusting, the ridges on his spike sliding temptingly between valve lips. “No complaints, what?”

 

What did he- oh! Right. Right, he wanted. Ohh, Primus. Optimus shuddered, licked his lips, shut his optics, and tried again. “No complaints,  _sir_.”

Alarm made a pleased little growling noise somewhere in the back of his throat, lining himself up, and Optimus had an instant of apprehension as he felt the broad tip of the spike he was about to take. That was rather a lot, wasn’t it? Maybe it would be better if he tried to figure out how to ask Alarm to-

And then the medic thrust, nearly hilting himself in one motion, and Optimus thought he might overload right then and there. He was right, Alarm  _was_ big. Thick and ridged and  _hot,_ oh, Primus, just this side of too much- but definitely this side, and a moan worthy of some sort of pleasure god slipped past his lips as Alarm began to move. Sensors that had most definitely not had this kind of attention in at  _least_ centuries flared to life, the ones far too deep for him to reach with his fingers, and that blunt, intimidating-feeling tip found all of them with every little thrust.

 

Alarm groaned long and low, servos tightening on the Prime’s hips, and held him still despite his attempts to squirm free. “Ohh,  _fuck_ that’s good,” he growled, and leaned forward, intending to keep talking in Optimus’ audials like he had before. A much more tempting thought struck him, though, and he abandoned speech in favor of biting down on the armor within easy reach. Which turned out to be an excellent choice, as the Prime shuddered under him, valve clenching deliciously, and moaned all the louder as Alarm moved.

One servo gripping those pretty hips, the other sliding up to stroke under his chassis plating and rub at sensitive wiring, dentae latched into a sturdy piece of plating, and a spike sliding ever deeper into his valve. Evidently more than enough to satisfy even a Prime, and Alarm huffed quiet satisfaction as he thrust. Slow and careful at first, testing the waters, as restrained as he could possibly be. Then he felt himself hilted in the Prime, felt the shivers of the frame against his, felt the calipers rippling around his spike without the slightest bit of resistance as he moved, and, well.

Optimus had liked the roughness before.

Leaning his weight more firmly on the other’s back, Alarm braced himself properly, pulled out until his spike head was just inside the Prime’s valve, then thrust back in. Slow on the first couple of thrusts, then faster, harder, the Prime’s moans and whimpers louder and louder as he got rougher. By the time he hit a good pace, hard and fast and rough, Optimus was keening on every thrust, the bench creaking under strong servos as the Prime braced himself.

Alarm had suspected for awhile that what Optimus needed to relax was a good pounding. He hadn’t anticipated dealing it out himself, but it was hard to complain. This was an attractive mech who fit very nicely with some of his interests, and this  _valve,_ mmh, this valve fit around his spike like it was custom-made for him. Who knew- maybe Primus did exist and had a weird sense of humor. Maybe this valve  _was_ made for him. That was probably  _also_ blasphemy, but then again, so was mounting a Prime and fucking him like they were turbofoxes in heat.

 

Had he always been this loud in berth? Dimly, Optimus was aware that there was a lot of moaning and keening going on, and most of it was not in Five-Alarm’s voice. Granted, some might be an echo, but- really, when- when was the last time he’d made this much noise? Did it matter?

It did not matter, Optimus decided, bracing himself to push back into the thrusts better. It also didn’t matter that he was going to have paint scuffs, that he might be walking funny, or that he might have to figure out how to explain himself. Nothing mattered except the heavy weight on his back and the thick, ridged spike that seemed to reach every node in his valve almost at once, that filled him like he hadn’t been filled since before he’d inhabited this frame, and  _why_ hadn’t he gone for larger partners again? Oh, Primus, he would have regretted his past choices in turning down offers if he’d been capable of regret, but right now his entire world was a shower stall that was probably going to be paved with lubricant by the time they were done here.

 

Alarm had been expecting to have to finish himself off. Squirmy, repressed Prime didn’t have any stamina, whereas Alarm did, so he’d been expecting Optimus to burn off the last of his energy with a final overload and leave Alarm to, hm, there were some tempting offers. Optimus certainly wasn’t going to last much longer, and Alarm turned the sensitivity on his servos down to the bare minimum in preparation- those first two overloads had brought an unusually large release of charge, probably something to do with the Matrix that he still didn’t trust, and this promised to be big. And, well. Maybe it was all that released charge jumping to him, maybe it was the lack of attention for so long, maybe it was because he hadn’t had the energy to frag himself in literal years, but Alarm wasn’t going to last much longer himself.

He wasn’t going to cum before Optimus did, though. Biting down a bit harder, he shifted his angle to make sure his spike hit nodes that were rarely reached in any other position, all those nice nodes high and deep in the valve that were hard to get at with a toy and impossible to get at with fingers. Which, by his calculations (more like guesses at this point of coherence), meant they’d probably gone untouched for even longer than the rest in Optimus’ valve. Judging by the squealing noise Optimus made on the first of those thrusts, he was right.

 

Optimus would probably have been embarrassed by the noises he was making, if the thrusts causing him to make those noises weren’t also making his optics cross and turning his processor to slush. At the moment, he probably wouldn’t have been embarrassed by an  _audience,_ let alone by the noises he was making or the fact that he was bending the edge of the metal bench rather badly at this point. And it wasn’t just the –admittedly amazing- pounding he was getting. It was the weight on his back, the strong servos gripping him to hold him just so, the  _bite_ as close to his scruff as Alarm could reach, the echo of that  _voice-_

He felt, oh, Primus, he felt  _dominated._ Felt like all he wanted to do in the next week or so was to continue to do his best to please the bot making him feel like this, to obey, to let someone else make all the decisions for once, especially if it involved being fucked like  _this_ again. Primus, this felt  _perfect,_ and he would have unashamedly said so if he’d been able to speak properly. As it was, he barely managed to lift his helm and gasp out “Five-Al-larm,  _sir-“_ and was rewarded for his efforts by one servo sliding from his chassis to his  _valve,_ alternating between stroking around where that spike was spreading him open and rubbing over his node. And by Five-Alarm’s field, finally uncurled enough to shudder  _pleasure/arousal/want/need/PRAISE_ against his.

He wouldn’t realize it later, but it was the approval that pushed Optimus over the edge. The rumbling purr of approval in Alarm’s throat, the stroking over somewhere ripe for attention in response to Optimus’ actions, and the praise in Alarm’s field.

Optimus overloaded harder than anywhere else in his memory, keening his pleasure through a vocalizer too crackled with static to get half the sound out, and everything whited out.

 

Five-Alarm thrust for a moment more into the clenching, shuddering valve, then bit harder on Optimus’ scruff and overloaded as well, spike pumping transfluid deep into that pretty, eager little valve, hips bucking in a last few half-thrusts. Panting, he released his bite on the Prime’s back, then let go with both servos in time to catch them both as Optimus more or less collapsed onto the floor. And he really didn’t feel like  _moving_ after that, so he didn’t. Just stayed there, slumped against the thoroughly fucked Prime, spike still in Optimus’ valve.

Mmh. Well. Who knew the last living Prime was a sub?

 

When Optimus managed to gather his consciousness up a bit, he could only manage to be slightly embarrassed at the realization of how much noise he’d made. A realization which mostly came from having to reboot his vocalizer more than once to get it to stop crackling. Licking his lips, he attempted to glance over his shoulder at Five-Alarm, and found himself blushing too hard to do so. “Uh. Thank you. Sir?” he managed, and was rewarded by the servo not slick with his lubricant coming up to stroke his audials. Which he. Really wasn’t about to protest. Not while his frame still felt like he might just melt.

 

“Told you you’d feel better. Idiot repressed Autobots. Gotta do everything myself,” Alarm grumbled, but something vaguely fond was on the edge of the exasperation in his field, and his expression was almost tender as he stroked the Prime’s audials. Not that Optimus could see his face. “Yer loud. Got promise, though. Gotta… gotta tie you up in my berth. Get some proper toys. See what I can get you t’ do. You good?” he asked, quietly, his petting growing firmer. An attempt at grounding. “Hurt anywhere? Think it over.”

 

Optimus, for once this month, did as a medic told him. “My… knees may be slightly sore later,” he concluded, then shifted a bit, blushing further. “Possibly my. Ah. Valve. But. No, I am not in pain.”

After a moment, he tried to offer Five-Alarm a tiny smile, but failed again due to geometry and to the massive blush on his face that he didn’t really want to show off. “I have. Never had someone… do this sort of… thing before. The… roles. I… had a partner who wanted me to… take a commanding role, but I’m not sure how good I was at that. You… you are very good,” he decided, soft and shy, processor already slithering around the prospect of  _more._ Oh. Primus. “I. Would not be opposed to… trying something else. In future. If. If you would like.”

 

“Mmh. Fuck yeah I’d like. Don’ know if you’re aware, but you, little slickvalve Prime, are hot. Nice voice. Vocal. Lotta energy,” Alarm muttered, snuggling down into the Prime’s warm frame, and opted not to move. “Gotta try y’ spike. ‘n aft. Could… bounce y’ in my lap, spike in y’ aft, see what kinda noises you make  _then_.”

Alarm might not have known what noises Optimus would make for that, but he sure knew what noises he was getting now.

Good ones.  


End file.
